


Riot and Wrong

by Caro_Dee



Category: Boston Legal
Genre: Canon-Typical Misogyny, Denny Crane being Denny Crane, Dimebolin still working, Gen, Inappropriate Erections, Real Life Events, US Capitol Riot January 6 2021, mild Trump bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29278686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caro_Dee/pseuds/Caro_Dee
Summary: Denny and Alan talk politics... sort of.
Relationships: Denny Crane & Alan Shore
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Riot and Wrong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [debirlfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/debirlfan/gifts).



Alan was standing amidst his horrified co-workers in the Crane & Shore Legal Aid conference room watching the coverage of the riot when his cellphone rang. One look at the caller ID and he stepped out into the hallway to take it.

“What is it, Rosita? Is Denny okay?”

“Mr. Shore!” Rosita said, urgently. “Mr. Crane’s very agitated. He’s wandering around looking for his gun and talking about going to Washington. He won’t calm down!”

“Is he watching the news?” Alan asked, already moving into his office to grab his coat and briefcase. “Tell him I’m on my way. Tell him to wait for me until I get there.”

“Yes, Mr. Shore. I’ll tell him.” There was the sound of crashing and shouting. “You should hurry, sir.”

Shrugging into his coat as he walked, Alan ducked his head into the conference room long enough to tell his paralegal that he needed to head out and to handle or reschedule his appointments. 

Fifteen minutes later he was pulling into the underground garage of their condominium building. He parked and strode quickly to the parking elevator, impatiently jabbing the button for the lobby. Despite the amazing continued success of Dimebolin, it had halted the progression of Denny’s Alzheimer’s but not reversed any damage. Most of the time, Denny was fine but once in a while he still had his Mad Cow moments.

Exiting the elevator at the penthouse floor, Alan could already hear Denny shouting. He quickly unlocked their front door, dropped his coat and briefcase on the floor and went straight to where Denny was ransacking their office closet. Rosita saw him and, breathing a sigh of relief, backed out of the room.

“Denny!”

Denny turned towards him with a distressed look on his face and Alan walked him right into a hug. Denny immediately relaxed and put his head on Alan’s shoulder. 

“You’re frightening Rosita,” Alan said, quietly. “Calm down and tell me why you need your gun?”

Denny reared back and shouted, “That… that mob is attacking our government! They’re trying to stop the election confirmation. They swarmed the police who don’t have guns to protect themselves! They need my help.” He looked around helplessly. “I can’t find my gun, Alan.”

“It’s okay, Denny,” Alan said. “Take a deep breath. I was watching the riot too and it’s deeply unsettling, but we’re going to have to trust the local authorities to handle this. Okay?”

Denny frowned but his eyes focused on Alan and cleared. “The local authorities are getting their asses kicked.”

Alan nodded sadly. “True but I believe the National Guard will get there any minute. So you see, we are unnecessary.”

Denny huffed at the very idea of being unnecessary. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at the office.”

“Rosita said you needed me so I came immediately.”

Denny face broke into a broad grin. “You sentimental soft touch. You were worried about me.”

Alan shrugged casually and tucked Denny’s arm into his to lead him out of the office. “Let’s sit down and have a drink, shall we?”

Denny shuffled slowly next to him as they made their way back to the living room and the still blaring television. Alan settled him into his easy chair, spread an afghan over him, and moved over to the bar, filling two glasses with two fingers of the most expensive alcohol-free fake whiskey on the market. He handed Denny one and sat in the easy chair next to him. He grabbed the remote and muted the sound.

“Not drinking the good stuff?” Denny asked.

“I’ll have to drive back to the office at some point,” Alan said. “So I will join you in drinking your swill.”

Denny chuckled. He took a sip of fake whiskey and sighed. “I miss cigars.”

Alan hummed in agreement. “So what got you so upset? I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s horribly upsetting but you seemed particularly upset.”

Denny face became grim. “Did you watch Trump’s speech?”

“No, I did not. I had the great good fortune to have back-to-back appointments. Was it bad?”

“You should watch it. He wound that crowd up and shoved them at the Capitol. I could see all of this,” he waved at the television, “coming in slow motion. It was like the tide coming in and I was helpless to do anything to stop it.” He took a fierce sip of his glass. “I don’t like feeling helpless.”

“Ahhh, so you were going to rush to Washington and rescue everyone.” Alan smiled. “How very Denny Crane of you.”

“You betcha!” Denny raised his glass to Alan. “Denny Crane!”

He stared at the violence showing on the TV screen. “I’d like to cap Trump in the ass!”

Alan lifted an eyebrow in interest. “Assassination, Denny?”

“No!” Denny said, indignantly. “Paintball gun.” He pointed his finger at the television. “Pow! Right in the ass.”

“Denny,” Alan turned to him in mild disbelief. “In the past four years, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you talk about Trump that way.”

“Of course not. You don’t disrespect the President. But he lost his re-election. That’s what all this is about.” Denny waved at the television. “Trying to undermine democracy. It’s… it’s Un-American!” 

“I’ve always considered Donald Trump to be quintessentially American,” Alan pointed out, drily.

“He’s a putz, is what he is,” Denny said. “A big, fat, sore loser.” He took a sip of his drink and grinned. “Did I ever tell you I represented the Town and County of Nantucket when Trump tried to sue them? Blew him right out of the water.”

“No!” said Alan, with interest. “Do tell.”

“He wanted to put one of his golf courses on the island and the local government wouldn’t change the zoning laws for him. They didn’t like his style.” Denny leaned over and added, indignantly, “Do you know that a couple years later we met at a fundraiser and he pretended he didn’t know who I was? Me! Denny Crane!”

“The gall!”

“Exactly.” Denny took a large sip and gazed down at the empty glass mournfully. “A putz.”

“A monumental putz. So why did you vote for him? And don’t try to tell me you didn’t.”

Denny gave him a startled look. “I’m a Republican! Second Amendment and lower taxes. Of course, I voted for him. I held my nose but I voted.”

“Of course you did.”

“Talking about the Second Amendment, you know that little politician from Colorado? Baby… Bambi… Bobbit?”

“You’re thinking about Lorena Bobbitt. The one who cut her husband’s penis off.”

Denny grabbed his crotch with a distressed look. “Feminists! No, thank you. Who did I mean?”

“I believe you’re referring to Representative Lauren Boebert.”

“Lauren Boebert.” Denny mouthed her name with sexual relish. “Did you see that political ad of hers? Where she promised to protect the Second Amendment and carry a gun right up to the Capitol? She’s _HOT_!“ Denny leaned forward to tell Alan. “I watched that commercial thirteen times one afternoon. Gave me an erection. And that doesn’t happen much anymore.”

“Where was I when this was happening?” Alan frowned.

“In court, I think? Gave me some privacy.” Denny waggled his eyebrows.

“Ah, yes. That afternoon that Rosita was worried about your sudden increased blood pressure.”

Denny wheezed in laughter. “Worth it. If I can’t go out in a pretty woman’s bed, then at least I can be thinking about one. Did you know she has a restaurant in Colorado where all the waitresses carry guns?”

The elaborately casual tone in Denny’s voice caught Alan’s attention. “No,” he said sharply. “No. No. We are not going to Colorado into the midst of redneck country so that you can hit on waitresses who carry guns to defend themselves. For God’s sake, Denny. Have some sense of self-preservation.”

“Please?” Denny pouted with hopeful eyes.

Alan rolled his eyes. “Winter in Colorado, Denny. No.”

Denny grunted in displeasure. “You never let me have any fun. Took away all my guns. Won’t even let me go to a gun-themed restaurant. Marital tyrant.”

“Rosita threatened to quit after you almost hit her that time.”

“Accident!” Denny muttered.

“You like Rosita. You agreed so she would stay. It was frankly quite a relief for me too.”

“You’re always telling me marriage is about compromise. I compromised. Why can’t you?”

Alan tilted his head. “It means that much to you?”

Denny smiled, sensing victory. “Come on. It’ll be fun!”

“If you still want to go come Spring, I’ll consider it. But only if we hire bodyguards to accompany us.”

“Sure, sure, whatever.” Denny waved, magnanimous in victory. He gave Alan a soft look. “You spoil me.”

“I do. You deserve it.”

Denny leaned forward and patted Alan’s arm. “I’m glad I married you, Alan Crane.”

“The sentiment is mutual, Denny Crane, but I still refuse to change my name.”

Denny shrugged. “You’re my husband. Longest marriage I ever had. In my heart you’ll always be Alan Crane.”

Alan’s face softened into a little smile.

“Ha!” Denny exclaimed smugly. “I’m wearing you down. You’ll give in someday.”

“Perhaps,” Alan agreed fondly.

They both turned back to watch the flickering screen in silent companionship. A few minutes later, Denny began snoring. Alan rolled his head to the left to watch Denny for a while with a smile. He reached over to remove the glass from his slack grip and adjusted the afghan a little higher, before slowly standing with cracking knees to go find Rosita to let her know he was going back to the office.


End file.
